


Childhood's a Step in Time, Parenthood's the Same

by Jo_busch_got_booty, Snickersoap



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: M/M, Nanny AU, Single Dad AU, i'm a sinner, without involving sin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2016-10-04
Packaged: 2018-05-28 02:42:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 13,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6312241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jo_busch_got_booty/pseuds/Jo_busch_got_booty, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snickersoap/pseuds/Snickersoap
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When John Laurens took the job to work as a nanny, he expected it to fix most of his problems-- bills, working at a coffee shop, romantic complications-- but instead he found himself more confused than he had been before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“I really appreciate you coming in on short notice.” The door closed behind John. A duffle bag was slung over his shoulder. “I know we agreed you could start Monday, but I didn't think I would be needed in at work at all this weekend because it was my one weekend off this month.”

 

“It’s no problem, Mr. Hamilton.” John raised his hands. “Go ahead to work.” The man in front of him was disheveled, his tie loose, jacket barely holding onto his shoulders. There was a Contigo cup of coffee in one hand, and his car keys in the other. His satchel hung off his shoulder. “I can take it from here.”

 

“Oh, you're a lifesaver,” Mr. Hamilton said gratefully. “Philip, honey! Come say hello to John!” His hand fell back onto the handle of the door. “I'll get home as soon as I can-- thank you.”

 

“Take your time,” John said quickly, waving him away as a small figure hobbled down the hallway. “We’ll be here when you get back.”

 

“Philip, behave for John. I’ll see you when I get home.” Mr. Hamilton opened the door, and rushed out, pausing only to throw another thank you over his shoulder as the door shut behind him. 

 

“Hey there, Kiddo.” John knelt down and placed his bag carefully beside him. He had more than just a duffel bag to his name, but it was at the little apartment he-- until the end of the month-- rented. It would take him a little while to move out, into his room in the Hamilton household. “Did you eat breakfast?”

 

He’d met Philip and Mr. Hamilton only once before, at his job interview. Not many parents were willing to hire a male nanny, and jobs were more difficult than he’d thought-- but Mr. Hamilton was in a rush, and he didn't seem to care who was taking care of his child so long as they did a good job. John was happy for the job, and the room. 

 

“No, Papa was about to make waffles when you got here.” 

 

“You know, I’ve been told I make the best waffles in the country,” John countered. 

 

Philip’s eyes widened with something between awe and amazement. John glanced at the clock. Seven twenty-five in the morning. “In the country?” He asked. “Papa just makes them frozen.”

 

John bit back a smile and straightened up. “Well,” he decided, “how about you show me where the kitchen is, and you can help me make some waffles that aren’t frozen?”

 

The day sailed, surprisingly, smoothly. There were no tantrums, no mischief-- normally when a child’s parents were never home there was some form of a rebellious streak, some cry for attention, but there was none. They made breakfast, washed the dishes, and snuck in a couple games of Sorry! Before lunchtime even rolled around. 

 

They had grilled cheeses for lunch, a side of carrots-- it had only been half a day, and John was already exhausted. 

 

“Can I watch TV?” 

 

The question caught John by surprise. His thoughts had been occupied by how badly the floor needed to be vacuumed, and how dusty the shelves were. On top of that, Philip hadn’t struck him as the TV type. He was imaginative, sure, but he babbled all through breakfast about the books Mr. Hamilton had read him. whatever happened to the good old children’s books, like Goodnight Moon and The Rainbow Fish? John was almost certain that he had heard the plot of Macbeth thrown into the mix.

 

“Uh, sure. You can watch it for an hour if you want.” It would give John a chance to clean the place up a little bit-- plus it was too dreary outside to make him go play. “Just keep it to PBS, or Disney or Nickelodeon.” 

 

“Is Cartoon Network okay?”

 

John nodded-- then stopped himself for a moment to consider. What kind of shows did Cartoon Network even play anymore? His little cousins liked some show about alien rocks-- that should be okay. “Cartoon Network is fine, yeah.”

 

Admittedly, he hadn’t watched any children in a while. He’d had a job in college, the daughter of two high-profile CEO’s who’d needed to pick up a second nanny when their first one stopped working weekends. But he’d been studying abroad, and eventually, he had needed to come home, and when he did there was utter chaos awaiting him for almost three years. Eventually, everything settled down.

 

He’d watched his neighbor’s children every so often-- his seemingly endless Dunkin Donuts shifts had been punctuated by wildly misbehaved ten-year-olds.

 

But then his Dunkin Donuts position gave way to an interview at an agency, which had led to representation, his name on a list, and from the list he’d gotten a call, an interview, a job.

 

So, he dusted off the vacuum, and then the shelves, and he swept the hardwood and put dinner on the stove. An hour later Philip pattered back into the kitchen, and while the soup simmered John taught him how to play Go Fish and they sat like that until Mr. Hamilton came in the door with his tie finally in order and his jacket sleeves on properly. John could have sworn he had never been this tired in his life.

 

“Papa!” Philip had jumped up when he had heard Mr. Hamilton’s keys in the lock, and John smiled at the sound of him ambushing his father at the front door. “Come play with us! John taught me how to play cards!”

 

“Cards?” Mr. Hamilton asked as he rounded the corner, holding Philip. He quirked an eyebrow at John. The question hadn’t been meant for Philip.

 

“Poker, to be more specific,” John said dryly before he thought better of it. “We’re betting TV time.”

 

The corner of Mr. Hamilton’s lip twitched. “Oh yeah?” He asked. “I guess I’m playing, then. There’s a West Wing marathon on all next week, I don’t want to risk missing out.”

 

That’s how they ended the day, with three chairs pulled up around the breakfast bar. They didn’t bother putting the game away to eat, just sipped their soup and nibbled on crackers until it was time for Philip to get ready for bed. John was sure he could get used to this. 

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His day aligned perfectly with the to-do list that hung on the fridge. It was the turn of the seasons-- summer was giving way to the fall, and John took note that soon he’d be sweeping leaves off of the porch.

For the next two weeks, John worked on falling into a routine. He woke up at six-thirty, made coffee, planned his day, roused Philip at seven-thirty, made breakfast…

His day aligned perfectly with the to-do list that hung on the fridge. It was the turn of the seasons-- summer was giving way to the fall, and John took note that soon he’d be sweeping leaves off of the porch.

“School is going to be starting soon,” Mr. Hamilton told him idly over dinner one night. John wondered if it was to break the silence-- Philip was at a friend’s house, and this was the first time the two adults had been in the house alone together since John was hired. “I’m still waiting for his class letter, to see what room he’s in, who his teacher is.”

“Kindergarten, right?” John confirmed, “He’ll be in the same classroom all day?”

“Save for the electives-- gym, art music-- I think they might go to the cafeteria for lunch on Fridays.”

There was a pregnant pause as John weighed his options. “You sure seem to know a lot, Mr. Hamilton,” he mused after a moment, “Most parents don’t know anything until their second kid, or until the first day of school is over.” His lip twitched as he eyed his boss wearily. Somehow, it had seemed like the wrong thing to say.

“My wife worked in the elementary school.” Mr. Hamilton took a sip of his coffee. “She was first grade, great with kids.” He looked thoughtful-- not hurt, just thoughtful, and John bit his lip, thinking he had said the wrong thing.

John didn’t know much. Single dad, his wife had died three years ago when Philip was two. Her name had been Eliza. John hadn’t seen a single picture.

“Are you moved in alright?”

The change in topic was so abrupt it caught John off guard. He swallowed a piece of chicken, then nodded. “Yessir, I have everything I need, and I’m keeping the rest with a friend.”

He winced at something. John wasn’t sure what it was, but he didn’t bring it up. Instead, he continued, “You know you don’t need to keep all of your stuff upstairs in your room, right? You can keep coats in the closet, books on the shelves.” He laughed to himself. “Philip likes you. You aren’t going to lose your job any time soon.”

“I…” John was at a loss. “I appreciate that,” he said for lack of a better response. Neither of them had touched their food for almost five minutes, and he saw Mr. Hamilton shifting in his seat, drumming his fingers on the table thoughtfully.

“Not to be rude,” he said, “but I have a lot of work to do. Would you mind if I excused my--”

“It’s not a problem, Mr. Hamilton,” John said quickly, already standing to clear the table. Mr. Hamilton stops where he is, poised just above his chair.

“You can call me Alexander.” He must have caught the surprise on john’s face, because he backpedaled. “It’s just Mr. Hamilton is so formal, and you live in my house, and I kind of hate that title anyway, so if you wouldn’t mind…”

“I’m not sure how comfortable I would feel about that, sir.” This wasn’t a friendly relationship. It was business. He saw a twinge of disappointment flicker in his boss’s eyes. Maybe hurt. “Maybe when I’m off the clock, but while I’m working…”

“I totally understand,” Mr. Hamilton assured. He held his palms out to John. A surrender. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask, John.”

\---

After that, John saw Mr. Hamilton less and less. He was later at work, spent most of his time at home holed up in his office. He’d said something, in passing, about a deadline. That’s the last John had heard about it.

Philip seemed accustomed to it. Or, at least, that’s the impression that struck John when he interrupted a bedtime story by saying, “He does this a lot.” John paused, mid-sentence, and looked up from the colorful page. Philip had an affinity for comic books. There was something in his voice John couldn’t place. It wasn’t sad, just distant.

“Who does what a lot, kiddo?” The comment had been made unprompted. John wasn’t sure what Philip had been thinking about.  
“Papa. Working. He works a lot.” He looked down at the comforter spread out on his bed like he was telling a best-kept secret.

“Sometimes you have to,” John said lamely. “You have to eat don’t you?”

“Yeah, yeah… I guess.” He looked like he wanted to say more, and John opened his mouth to encourage him, but instead he added, “What did Captain America do?” And they were back to the topic of the bedtime story.

“Hey,” John said when they finished the volume. “The weather’s supposed to be nice tomorrow. How about we have a picnic in the park for lunch?”

Philip’s eyes widened, surprised joy lighting up his features and honestly John hadn’t been expecting such an eager expression. “We can?”

“Sure. We can make sandwiches, bring a frisbee or a ball with us.” Philip, seeming content with the idea, flopped down onto his pillow. Almost immediately, he sat back up urgently.

“Can I ride my bike there?”

“It’s a plan, little man,” John decided. He held a hand out to shake on it, and Philip took it.

“Goodnight, John!” He chirped, and John smiled as he flicked the bedroom light off, leaving only the dim glow of the nightlight on the far wall.

“Night, kiddo.”

\--

As promised, come noon the next day, John loaded sandwiches, raw vegetables, small individual bags of Cheez-its, and ranch dressing into the closest thing he could find to a basket (one of those reusable bags from Shop Rite). Philip followed behind him as he prepared lunch, bouncing on the balls of his feet. It took a lot of concentration not to laugh.

“You ready to go?” John asked, already knowing the answer.

“Yeah. Yeah!” His bike leaned against the wall right beside the front door. John passed him his helmet and knelt down to help him buckle it. He tugged at the strings for safe measure, making sure it was tight.

“Do you remember the rules?”

As Philip listed them, John ticked them off on his fingers. “No riding my bike to cross the street, no riding in front of you, hold your hand while we cross the street.”

“And?” John raised an eyebrow.

“Always wear a helmet.” He looked impatiently up at John. “Can we go now?”

“Yeah,” John agreed. “We can go.”

\--

Philip still used training wheels. They were locked onto the bike, and they made a hissing sound when they rolled over the freshly fallen leaves. It really was beautiful out.

\--

Lunch was nice. They ate, rolled a ball back and forth to each other. John, briefly, tried to explain the rules of soccer, but they seemed to go over Philip’s head. He’d rather just kick the ball and see where it lands. John didn’t mind.

Once they’d finally settled back onto the grass, Philip started babbling. It wasn’t nonsense, but he spoke so fast it was hard to keep up, so John settled on catching the basics. He put words together, and tried to form his own summary until Philip stopped dead in the middle of a sentence, crinkled his nose, and said “ew.”

John turned, and followed his gaze to a couple behind him, kissing. It was PG, all love, no tongue. His hand was on her waist. Her hands were on his cheeks.

“Ew?” John repeated playfully. He turned back to Philip, who had scrunched his eyebrows into an extremely thoughtful expression.

“Yeah,” Philip picked a Cheez-it out of his bag and nibbled on it. He wasn’t so talkative anymore. “Papa and Mr. Aaron used to kiss all the time. It’s gross.” He took another bite of Cheez-it. John's smile twitched. 

"Mr. Aaron?" he asked. 

Philip nodded, and looked up at John, unfazed. "He was my babysitter before you," he said, as if the news didn't cause an unnerved twist in John's gut. "He's like you. you're nice."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was almost totally unedited because I'm a chump and I let Grammarly do all of the work for me. Also I've gotten about ten hours of sleep in the past five days so RIP to all the typos in this chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John tries not to think about it, and his friends humor him with it.

John decided to not think about it. 

He and Philip collected their trash, they made it home safely, Philip watched TV for an hour, John mopped the floors. The shelves were dusted, the carpet vacuumed. There were little chores to be done-- bathrooms to be cleaned, laundry to be washed-- but they were all trivial enough that he could brush them off to play a couple games of Clue with Philip when he toddled back into the room. And then there was dinner to cook, dinner to eat, and then Mr. Hamilton was home and Philip was rushing up to him in greeting and--

It was late. Later than usual. John had just started reading Philip his bedtime story when the front door opened, and who was John to deny Philip the right to greet his father. He let him go for a few minutes, listened to Philip babble about his day-- John and I had a picnic! I rode all the way to the park on my bike!-- and follow Mr. Hamilton up the steps. 

“C’mon, Kiddo!” John finally called as the two approached Mr. Hamilton’s office. “It’s almost eight thirty. You need to get some sleep.” 

There were muffled goodbyes, and then the bedroom door opened again, and Philip looked no worse for wear than he had when he'd left. 

“Alright,” John said, “so are we reading about Captain America tonight? Or Iron Man?”

\--

Mr. Hamilton’s office light was still on when John had finished tucking Philip in. He considered going to bed himself, or snagging an hour or so of TV if there was no one else watching, but he settled for knocking lightly on the door, uncertain. 

“Come in!”

When he opened the door, John balked at the sight. It looked as if a tornado had swept through. There were papers all over the desk, books piled on the shelves and the floor. Some of them were open. Most of the pages were dog-eared. 

He wasn't even looking up when John stepped in. The computer was on the opposite wall, and there was a wall of text on screen. He was still typing. John cleared his throat. 

Mr. Hamilton finally looked up. “Is everything alright?” He asked, turning in his seat. The chair squeaked as he spun, John winced. 

“Huh? Oh, everything’s perfect, I just put Philip to bed.” John shifted. “I wanted to let you know there’s some chicken left over from dinner. I noticed you didn't eat when you came in, if you're hungry I could heat some up for you.”

Mr. Hamilton blinked. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m not particularly hungry. I had a dinner meeting around six thirty.” 

“I just wanted to make sure,” John assured. He didn't move to leave. “Actually, Mr. Hamilton, there is one more thing if you have a moment?” 

“What is it?” His voice held no malice. He didn’t even seem annoyed. 

“I know it’s none of my business, really, but today at lunch Philip said something about a former nanny that made me…” John searched for the word. “Uncomfortable.” No, it wasn't the word he had been looking for, but it did the job. 

“He mentioned Aaron.” Mr. Hamilton’s face softened, and there was a flicker of something in his eyes. Regret, maybe. “I’m not surprised, he really did love him.” He cleared his throat, John spoke before he could say more. 

“He mentioned that you two had been romantically involved.” It was a pretentious way to word it. “And, please don't take this the wrong way, but I wanted to ensure that your intentions with me weren’t… You know… uh… unprofessional.” And John was beginning to think that it wasn't the best wording, because Mr. Hamilton raised an eyebrow, and John was almost sure he was about to get fired on the spot when--

“Not at all.” John blinked. “You were the most qualified for the job, and Philip really liked you, and after Aaron I wanted to make sure there was someone he liked taking care of him.” 

“Right.” The clock sounded louder than it had been when John walked in. Or maybe the room was just quieter. He was just standing there, and they both made awkward eye contact and the question was burning on John’s tongue-- “Mr. Hamilton, if you don’t mind my asking…”

“Yeah?”

“What happened between you and Mr. Aaron?”

Maybe it was none of his business. He thought it might be. 

Mr. Hamilton cleared his throat. “After my wife passed, we were all hit hard. Aaron was there, and I think we thought we were in love, but I didn't realize…” He shook his head. He looked like he was just mulling the concept over, himself. “We didn't realize it was just a rebound. We had a falling out, and I decided it was best he didn't work for me anymore.” 

That was it. John cleared his throat. Nodded. “Thank you for clarifying. I just wanted to make sure.” He felt lightheaded. He wondered if he was pale. 

“Do you need anything else?” 

“No, sir. That was all.”

“Thanks for getting Philip into bed for me.”

John felt like he was being dismissed.   
\--

“He’s down for a nap right now.” John leaned back in his seat. He put his call on speaker, and gently tossed his phone onto the arm of the couch. There was static for only a second before his friend’s voice cut through the line.

“Shouldn’t you be doing some kind of chore, then?” He sounded amused.

“Finished them yesterday. Thought I needed a break today.” 

A second voice joined the line. “Hercules! Is that John?”

“Yeah, it’s him. You need him?”

“Put it on speaker!” 

Hercules muttered a playful so demanding under his breath, but complied. “Fine, fine. Say what you want.”

“John! John! You aren't babysitting Friday night are you?” Lafayette’s voice was louder than John had been expecting. He winced, turned down the volume. 

“I don't think so. Don't know, though. My boss works late hours.” He carded his fingers through his hair. 

"How late are we talking?" That was Herc. 

"He didn't get in until around nine last night." John shrugged even though they couldn't see him. "I mean, Philip's already in bed by then, but I still can't leave him home alone."

"Non! Non! John, we haven't seen you since you got this job." There was some scrabbling, Herc let out an indignant yelp, the phone was tapped. He was off speaker phone now, his voice even louder. "You are coming out with us on Friday night and we are getting-- how do you Americans put this?-- turnt!" 

"One, I promise you that Americans don't say that-- do they?" John counted his points off on his fingers, "two, I'm living at my boss's house. I can't just come home drunk and wake up hungover, even if I'm off on the weekends. Three, I don't ever want to hear you say 'turnt' again. I mean it." 

"You can stay with us over the weekend!" There was a murmur of agreement in the background. "Georges would love to see you again. He misses his Uncle John."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably shorter than it looks on my phone, but it took me all month to write whoopsie


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John finally gets a day off

Despite the redundant amount of lights, the club was still barely bright enough for John to see three feet in front of his face.

“You know,” he hollered over the booming music. The ground felt like it was vibrating beneath him. Someone at the bar downed a shot, there was a coughing fit followed by a chorus of laughter. “We could have gone to a regular bar.”

“But that would not be nearly as fun!” Lafayette clapped him on the shoulder. “Besides, it’s harder to find one night stands at a regular bar.”

John raised an eyebrow. Herc snorted.

“E-Excuse me?” John spluttered. “Did you drag me out here to get laid? I'm staying with you guys!”

“If you don't get some. Sure. If not, you can go home with whoever is consenting and willing.” John brought a hand up, rubbed at his face.

“I am not having a one night stand,” he said firmly. “You brought me out here to drink, and seeing as I've been living on apple juice and mild for the past month, I intend to drink, and then I intend to go home with the both of you. Capisco?”

“Oui, oui. If you so insist--”

“I do.”

“Then you may accompany us home--”

“As we planned from the beginning.”

“But if that is the case, then I'm going to get us drinks.”

“Please, be my guest. Sam Adams.”

Lafayette flitted off, leaving Herc and John at a corner table by themselves. John sighed heavily. “As intrusive as always,” he grumbled.

“He missed you, man.” Herc leaned back on the stool, barely straining to keep his balance. “We’ve barely heard as much as a word from you in almost a month and a half.”

“I know, I know. I've been busy.”

“How’s the new job coming?” Herc took a handful of nuts from the center of the table, put one in his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully.

“It’s okay, I guess. Philip’s cute, I get paid well, and I get a place to stay, so there aren't too many downsides.” John followed suit, and grabbed a few peanuts. “He works pretty late, though. Philip doesn't see him very often.”

“You said he got home at nine,” Herc mused. “What does he even do?”

“He’s an attorney, I think. Defense.” It hadn’t been specified, but John had heard him muttering under his breath: damn it, I know he’s innocent. How’d his damn fingerprints get on the knife?

The only experience John had in this field was watching a child play Ace Attorney for four hours straight.

“How about you two?” He changed the subject deftly. “Are you both getting ready for school to start?”

“We start moving into our classrooms Monday.”

“You still working in Rice?” Herc raised an eyebrow, but nodded.

“Number one gym teacher.”

“That’s the school Philip’s going to. I guess I'll be seeing you in the mornings.” Hercules’ attention seemed to drift over his shoulder.

“And afternoons-- Laf’s coming back, cut the work talk.”

“Okay, you lightweight Americans!” The voice came from behind John. His beer was slammed down onto the table in front of him. “We are drinking our beers, and then we are playing darts!”

\--  
Alex almost found himself falling asleep into his pizza. The piece had grown cold on the plate, and for this Alex was grateful when he felt himself falling forward, his eyes shutting slowly-- and then he reached his hand out to catch himself, and landed in the pizza.

“Yaagh!” He yelled, pulling back. His hand was covered in a mix of sauce and cheese, and it dropped down his arm, onto the carpet. He winced. “Dammit.”

He needed to get the carpets professionally cleaned anyway, because the last time it had been done, Eliza was the one who had let them in, called up the steps that it was time to surrender his office. There had been laughter in her voice-- teasing.

Alex shook his head, realized he was staring at the hunk of pizza sauce. He grabbed a napkin off of the desk beside him and did his best to mop up the mess. The clock in the corner of the computer screen read half past one in the morning. Alex reached behind his head, allowed himself a big stretch, and turned his attention back to his closing statement.

Sleep could wait. He'd grab coffee in a few minutes.  
\--

It was half past one in the afternoon when John finally opened his eyes. There was a moment where it could have been any morning-- and then the pain hit. His head felt like someone has spent the night before hitting him with bricks. He could taste the remnants of beer on his tongue. With a groan, he rolled out of bed, and nearly tripped over some kind of toy. An action figure. He was in Georges’s room, and the fact filled him with a confusion he couldn't identify, so he decided to shake it off until he had coffee.

The blinds were open in the living room when he stepped out the door. Sunlight streamed through, lighting the room. He winced, squinted, cursed the third round of shots. It may have been more painful if, in that moment, he hadn't noticed the smell of--

“The dead awake!”

Bacon.

John turned his head toward the sight of Herc slaving over the stove.

“Laf’s still asleep. Unsurprisingly. I don't think he would wake up if the building was on fire, actually.”

John let out a hum, some kind of response. When had he gotten so close to the counter? “Where's Georges?” He asked. His voice was hoarse. There were a few pieces of already cooked bacon on the counter, the grease seeping into the paper towel. He reached out and snagged a couple before Herc could swat him away.

“He's with his mom this weekend. You want eggs?”

John shook his head. “Aspirin. How are you guys faring? Living together, with Georges?”

Herc tossed him a bottle of store brand Ibuprofen. “We’re good. It’s nice. He likes me, I think.”

“Why wouldn't he?”

“I'm not his mom.” The comment was made dismissively. John sighed. “You know how kids are, John. And I wouldn't blame him. But he doesn't give me any trouble, doesn't act out more than most kids.”

“He still gets to see his mom. You're not replacing her.”

“Yeah… That's probably it.” Herc took a sip of orange juice. He looked at John quizzically. “But how’s your job going? Other than the kid being cute and the dad working late.”

It was John’s turn to shrug. “I'm not sure what else there is to it,” he chuckled. The action hurt. “I've never done this full time before, it's a little exhausting.”

“You doing okay with it?”

“I think so, yeah.” John carded his fingers through his hair, tried to untangle a knot or two. He thought for a moment, then leaned forward. “But… Hey, help me out here… Apparently my boss and the nanny before me were getting it on.” It was a crude way to put it, John realized. He winced. “Er-- something like that, anyway.”

“Is that speculation? Rumors?” He looked unconvinced.

“Right from the source,” John answered. “After I asked him about it.” He saw Herc’s mouth twitch into a disapproving frown, and tried again. “Philip said something to me first.”

“Well,” he said, “just don't sleep with your boss.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a v long convo w my friend About whether or not a POV switch was acceptable, because it was necessary for later. No edits whoopsie


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “A play date?” Laf’s voice was scratchy from static. John held the phone between his shoulder and ear. 
> 
> “Yeah, a play date.”

Not sleeping for any length of time longer than fourteen hours often leads to the feeling of unreality you face while sitting in the dark. It’s a little airless, a little fuzzy. It doesn't hinder the mind too much-- not until twenty hours have passed, at least-- and Alexander was reveling in the feeling when he heard the front lock click. It was late afternoon on Sunday, and Philip was lounging on the couch reading a comic book of some kind. Alex heard the radio playing softly, the sound drifting lazily. 

He looked up from his work when the door opened, alarmed until he caught sight of John. He turned back to his laptop, offered a quiet “hey” when footsteps sounded behind him. 

“Good afternoon.” John placed his bag over the back of a chair across the table. He looked tired. 

“Have a good weekend?” Alexander glanced back to his work, John shuffled around. He opened a cabinet. Closed it. 

“Yeah, yeah. It was nice. I got to hang out with my godson on Friday night before going out.” The tap ran as he spoke, but he didn't raise his voice to speak over it. “How ‘bout you guys?”

John leaned against the counter, and looked at Alexander from over the rim of his glass. “It was good. Philip and I hung out for a while. I got a lot of work done.” He sounded distracted. 

“Did you eat?” John asked, faux casual. Alexander bit without meaning to. 

“Philip had lunch about an hour and a half ago,” he assured, too occupied to catch himself. John cleared his throat. 

“How about I make dinner?” He suggested. “The three of us could eat together. We don’t know each other very well, sir.” 

“Alex is just fine,” Alexander said for the umpteenth time. “And I’m really not that hungry. I was going to order Chinese, actually. It’s your day off.”

John shrugged. “I've had a break all weekend. It’ll be nice to get back to work. Do you prefer chicken or beef?” 

“I appreciate the offer,” Alexander said quickly. “But I'm really not hungry, I'll get something for Philip when he’s ready.”

“Well, I’m hungry,” John decided. “And you really should eat, Alex. It’s nearing five thirty.”

Alexander looked up at that, eyebrows knotted. He hadn't been watching the time. “Uh, fine, then. Chicken is okay.”

“Chicken it is.” 

\--

It got easier, John decided. There was a pattern again, a schedule. Sometimes the three of them ate dinner together, sometimes they didn't. Normally, it was the latter but every once in awhile Alexander would come home while dinner was being cooked, or placed on the table, and John would raise an eyebrow, tell him what they were eating, and Philip would start telling him about his day, and the next thing they all knew, Alex was halfway done his first helping of pasta. 

It was one of those nights. Alex came in just as the rice had finished cooking. He wasn't quiet, and he dropped his bag down in the hall on his way to the kitchen. 

“I made stir fry for dinner,” John told him. “Should I set a plate out for you, Mr. Hamilton?” 

“That sounds lovely,” Alexander said, “but I actually have a lot of work to catch up on, my partner’s on vacation. I have to cover for him.”

“You’ll work better if you eat,” John pointed out. “And there's plenty of food, sir-- I’m actually quite well known for my stir fry.” John leaned forward slightly. A challenge. 

“Is that so?” He quirked an eyebrow. 

“People used to come from all over Europe to try it. This isn't an opportunity to pass up, Mr. Hamilton.” 

“I guess it's not, then,” he answered, resigned. “Where’s Philip?” 

“Playing in the backyard. Once I put this in a bowl I’ll go get him--”

“I’ll grab him,” Alexander cut in. “Your hands are full.” 

“You sure? I can handle it.” It wasn't defensive. Alexander shook his head. 

“I haven't seen him all day, anyway.” 

Dinner was without event. Philip offered for his father to join in a game of cards, but Alexander politely declined-- a lot of work to do-- but he paused his work long enough to help with the dishes. 

“You wash, I’ll dry?” He said, grabbing a dish towel off of the counter. 

“I can get it, it’s what you pay me for,” John interjected. 

“I have to talk to you, anyway.” 

John wasn’t quite sure why that made his blood run cold. He was going to lose his job, wasn't he? He probably said the wrong thing, or shouldn't have left Philip alone outside-- “is something wrong, sir?” 

“No, no, nothing like that!” He was quick to reply, throw his hands up. If he had been holding a plate, it would have broken. He dropped the dish towel. “My sister-in-law is flying in two weeks from now to surprise Philip.” 

John let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. He still had a job. “Is it his birthday?” 

“No, that isn’t until the end of January.” John handed him a dish, and he rubbed the rag over it. “But he hasn’t seen her since Eliza passed. She stayed with us for a few months then, but her husband needed his appendix taken out so she had to fly back to London prematurely.” 

“Is everything okay?”

“Everything turned out fine, the surgery went well.” He seemed nonplussed. John didn't push further. “But I figure Angie is going to want to spend time with Philip, so if you want to take the week of the tenth off, I'd be happy to give it to you.”

“That would be great, sir, but I'm afraid I wouldn't have a place to stay for a week,” John admitted. “Weekends are easy, but weekdays--”

“You could continue to stay here,” Alexander reassured. “That’s not an issue. We-- I have two guest bedrooms. She used to be here a lot. You just wouldn't have to work: cook, clean, take care of Philip.” 

“That’s extremely generous,” John said, shocked. 

“You do a lot,” Alexander said, “you deserve a break.” 

\--  
“A play date?” Laf’s voice was scratchy from static. John held the phone up to his ear between his shoulder and ear. 

“Yeah, a play date.” He wondered if the whisk in the bowl was too loud, that maybe Laf couldn't hear him. “You know, the two kids hang out for an hour or so.”

“I know what a play date is, John,” he said flatly. “But Philip and Georges don’t know each other.” 

“I know that, but Laf…” John glanced around, lowered his voice, “Philip doesn't have any friends. I don't think he knows anyone his age. There's still a month left in summer, and I don't want him to be unable to make friends in school, and I don't want him to be alone for a whole month. I'm not an adequate friend.” 

“I would agree, you're pimping out my son.”

“I’m not-- oh for the love of God.” John placed the bowl of brownie mix on the counter, grabbed the phone with his hands. Lafayette was laughing into the receiver. 

“I’m kidding, John. I'm kidding. I’ll ask Georges, if he agrees then you can ask Philip. Okay?” 

“Thank you.” John grabbed the bowl again, went back to mixing. 

“And please stop baking while you talk to me on the phone.”

“Some of us have a job to do in the summer, Laf. Text me when you ask.” 

It was after seven when John finally got a text back. Alexander had been home for half an hour, Philip was getting ready for bed. 

Text from: the frenchiest fry  
Georges says it sounds like fun. Go ahead and ask your boss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been sitting in my documents for months, and I had no idea I hadn't posted it.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His thoughts were cut off by the Marimba chime on his phone. Alex answered without looking, and shoved the phone to his ear. “You better have good news,” he snarled. Someone cleared their throat on the other end of the line. 
> 
> “I’m making lasagna for dinner?” the voice offered. John.

“Have I been paying you for the groceries?”

John’s hand stopped just short of the doorknob. He turned, squinting his eyes thoughtfully. “Give me a second to do the math,” he muttered. The thought came up short. “I’d have to look at the checks and receipts,” he admitted. “I think I would have noticed if something was out of order.” 

“Would you mind double checking when you get a chance?” Mr. Hamilton carded his fingers through his hair thoughtfully. “I'd hate to be underpaying you.” 

“Yeah, sure. I’ll look when I get back,” John agreed. He fiddled with the ring of keys in his hand. “Do you want anything in particular while I'm there? Any special lunch meat? Any requests for dinner?” 

“Whatever you make is fine,” Mr. Hamilton assured. “But don't worry about locking the door behind you on your way out. I have to head back to the office today.”

“On a Saturday?”

“Unfortunately. One of the interns made a mistake when he was looking through evidence and now we have to start back at square one. I know it’s your day off, but do you mind…?” He looked sincerely regretful. 

John waved his hand. “Not at all. I'll take Philip to the store with me.”

“Thank you so much, I’ll be sure to pay you overtime,” he promised, then added quickly, with the hint of a smile, “and the groceries.”

“Can’t forget the groceries,” John agreed.

\--

“What do you mean he wants to exhume the body? I… Well fight the motion, then! Say the family’s been through enough, or that… Don't let the prosecution call all the shots. If Jefferson wants a fight, he's going to get it, but that body’s staying in the grave… Yeah, you too,” Alex huffed as he hung up his phone. He leaned back in his seat with a groan, and rubbed at his eyes. 

The text on the computer screen in front of him was blurry. He'd been staring at it so long that, even with his glasses, it was hard to make out paragraph after paragraph. He glanced at the clock. He'd left his home just after nine in the morning, but now it was nearing six at night and he had too big of a caffeine headache to keep working. 

“Just a few more minutes,” he decided to himself, and reached out for the stack of files beside him. There was too much left to do, too many questions to be answered. And if they exhumed the body-- well, he had to be prepared. He pored over the evidence: crime scene photos, the autopsy report, witness testimonies, but--

His thoughts were cut off by the Marimba chime on his phone. Alex answered without looking, and shoved the phone to his ear. “You better have good news,” he snarled. Someone cleared their throat on the other end of the line. 

“I’m making lasagna for dinner?” the voice offered. John. Alex’s eyes widened. “I was wondering if you were going to make it home in time to eat with us.”

“Is he coming?” Philip sounded hopeful from the foreground of the conversation. He was probably bouncing on his toes waiting for a response. Alex sighed, and looked at the stack of papers again. 

“I’ll be home in twenty minutes,” he promised against his better judgement. He could finish at home. 

“It’ll be on the table when you get in,” John promised. Philip cheered. 

\--

As promised, dinner was laid out on the table when Alex walked in the door. 

“Welcome home,” John called from the kitchen, and Philip came flying down the hallway just a second after. 

“John let me set the table all by myself!” He announced proudly. “And I helped make dinner, too!”

“You did?” Alex hoisted Philip up onto his hip. John made his way out of the kitchen, smiling loosely. He still had an oven mitt on his right hand. 

“Yeah, he put the lasagne on in layers,” John agreed. “He was a huge help.”

“It smells delicious,” Alex said. And it did. He plopped Philip down in a seat, and sat next to him. 

“Thanks,” John laughed. “It’s my grandma’s recipe, though I'll admit that it isn't as good as hers. Tell me when.”

\--

“So you're a lawyer?” John looked at Alex over a forkful of sauce and cheese. “Defense or prosecution?”

“Defense.” Alexander considered the mountain of files he had to finish looking at when he was done eating. “My firm is actually handling the Levi Weeks case right now.”

“The drowning?” John clarified. He took a sip of his drink, leaned back. “That’s all over the news.”

“It’s hard to avoid,” Alex agreed. “The case is a bigger deal than anyone expected it was going to be.” He leaned over to get another piece of lasagna. John tried not to look too proud. 

“I'm really sorry again,” Alex said. “About making you work on your day off. I can give you Monday off if you'd like… No, that wouldn't work, actually… Would you be okay with overtime?”

“A little extra cash would be nice,” John agreed. “I’m not too worried about making up the day miss--” he stopped himself as his phone rang in his pocket, the duck time. He glanced at the caller I.D and blanched. “I’m sorry, I really need to take this,” he excused himself, pushing away from the table. 

Alex waved him away reassuringly. “It’s no trouble.” 

“Hello?” John said, making his way to the living room. “Yes, I'll accept the charge…. Wow. Hello to you too, stranger.”

“So what did you guys do today?” Alex asked his son, turning his attention away from the nanny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is really short but I banged it out and I'm just setting things up. Thank you all for the nice comments, whenever I'm in a jam and I see someone commented something sweet it really encourages me to write more, so thanks for keeping me writing.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I'm waiting up for Mr. Hamilton,” he said idly. “And the new episode of Big Brother.”
> 
> “You and Gil both,” Herc laughed. “He’s pissed about something. Road kill? I think?”
> 
> “The winner or the competition?”
> 
> “Man, I don't know. I don't watch it.”

“So you're getting an entire week off? Nice!” John shifted the phone to his other ear. “Where’s Philip now?” 

“I put him to bed an hour ago.”

“So what are you doing still working on chores?” Herc asked. John turned the sink off, and brought a rag to the plate he had just finished washing. 

“I'm waiting up for Mr. Hamilton,” he said idly. “And the new episode of Big Brother.”

“You and Gil both,” Herc laughed. “He’s pissed about something. Road kill? I think?”

“The winner or the competition?”

“Man, I don't know. I don't watch it.” John snorted, and put the plate in the cabinet. “But what are you doing waiting up for your boss?” 

“It’s weird, it’s after nine and he still isn't home yet.”

“You said he usually works late,” Herc pointed out. 

“Not this late.” John glanced over at the front door, frowning. “I want to make sure he makes it home safe.”

Before Herc could respond, there was muffled yelling in the background, and then a scuffle as the phone was wrestled from his hand. 

“John! John, can you believe what Frank did this week?” 

John made his way to the living room, and sank into the couch. “No, I really can't.”

\--

Mr. Hamilton didn't make it home until halfway through Wednesday’s episode of Big Brother. There was some clatter as he dropped his bag off and raided the fridge. After a few minutes, he popped his head into the living room. 

“Whatcha watching?” He asked around a mouthful of sandwich. John glanced over, looked at the state of his boss, then motioned toward the television with the remote. 

“Reality T.V.,” he said with a shrug. “It’s called Big Brother.” 

“Mind if I--” Alex nodded toward the couch, and took another bite of his sandwich. 

“The more the merrier,” John assured, and patted the couch. Alex plopped down beside him, and squinted at the television.

“What’s it about? The show, I mean.” Alex glanced over at John, who was watching the T.V. intently.

“Every summer they stick, like, sixteen people in a house, and there’s all these twists and stuff to make the game more complicated. Like-- oh, like him right there.” John pointed at the screen, where a guy was talking intently to a camera about something dramatic, Alex was sure. “That’s Frank. He played four seasons ago and they brought him, and like three other houseguests, back to play this season, too.”

“He seems angry.”

“The whole house wants him and his friend Bridgette out,” John explained. Alex nodded.

“What do they get if they win?” Alex swallowed the final bite of his sandwich, and averted his attention back to the screen. 

“Half a million dollars and bragging rights.” He shrugged. “And sometimes people end up in relationships.” 

“Really?” 

“A couple from a few seasons back got married.”

“I… Wow.”

“Yeah. I know, right?” John laughed. “And they have to do weird things for punishments. It’s fun to watch, not so fun to play.” 

“I bet. Wow.” Alex eyed up the television. “So do you watch a lot of reality T.V?” 

“Not a ton. I got hooked on a few when I was living in England, though.”

“Where were you in England?” Alex turned to face him instead of the screen. John didn't seem to notice. 

“I was in London for a while, and then I headed to Geneva in Switzerland for a while.” 

“That’s a lot of traveling,” Alex mused, but John just shrugged again. 

“It was a nice experience,” he admitted. “I got to study abroad, and meet so many amazing people. I love this country, but it was good to take a break.” 

“And now you're back?” 

“Like I said, I was just taking a break. I couldn't stay away for long.” A narrator took over on the screen, and John absently flicked the channel to something new. He didn't seem interested in it. “How was work? You're home late.” It was Alex’s turn to shrug. 

“We’re nearing trial,” he explained. “The interns and I are trying to get everything ready. We don't want to lose this case.” 

“Don't want to lose because you think he's innocent?” John turned to look at Alex, then blanched. “Er-- never mind,” he backtracked. “I've watched How to Get Away With Murder. You don't ask that.”

“No, not really,” Alex agreed. “Oh, just a reminder. Saturday night I have to go pick my Sister-in-law up at the airport. Are you still okay with watching Philip while I'm gone?”

“You're giving me a whole week off, I can handle working a couple hours on my day off.”

\--

Late into the afternoon on Friday, John’s phone buzzed with a text from his boss. 

From: Mr. Hamilton:  
Won’t make it home for dinner.

“How does pizza sound for dinner tonight?” John asked, and Philip cheered. 

\--

“You look exhausted,” John said on Saturday morning as he poured Mr. Hamilton another cup of coffee. “How did you sleep last night?”

“What?” Alex asked blearily. 

“How did you sleep?” John repeated. He pushed the cereal box closer to Mr. Hamilton, and leaned back in his seat. 

“I slept fine,” he lied. “How was Philip yesterday.”

“As good as always. He's in the living room watching cartoons now.” He took a swig of his own coffee, basked in the French vanilla delight for a couple seconds before returning his mug back to the table. “He asked me to join him when I finished eating. Thought I'd invite you, too.”

“That depends, what’s he watching?” 

They both went silent for a few moments, and strained their ears to listen in on the show. 

“Sounds like The Flintstones,” John decided. 

“Bring our coffee in there?” Alex suggested, and they grabbed their drinks and headed into the living room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These chapters are all going to be short apparently I'm not apologizing anymore. Thank you all again for the sweet comments! I can't believe how nice and funny you all are!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex reached into the cabinet and grabbed a glass. “Ice?”
> 
> “No, thank you.”
> 
> “The European life is rubbing off on you.”
> 
> “What can I say? I’ve gotten used to room temperature water.”
> 
> “A sin, I tell you.” He handed her the full glass, and leaned back against the counter.

“Is Papa coming to tuck me in?” Saturday night had rolled around soon enough, and John forced his most sympathetic frown. Philip looked disappointed, like he already knew the answer.

“Sorry, kiddo.” John reached over to turn off the lamp. “He had some work emergency. He’ll tuck you in tomorrow. But for now,” John stood, and plugged in the night light-- a small replica of Iron Man. “You need to rest up. I was thinking we could head to the park tomorrow.”

“Can we have a picnic again?” Philip asked, grinning up at him.

“Sure, why not? Night, Philip.”

“Goodnight, John!”

\--

It was just after two in the morning when Alex finally unlocked the front door of his house. Angelica’s suitcase was heavy in his hand.

“How have you guys been?” She asked before he opened the door. Her voice was gentle, and Alex cleared his throat before looking back at her.

“We’ve been fine,” Alex said plainly. As if on instinct he added, “how about you?”

“Getting by,” Angelica answered, and that answer must have sufficed for Alex because he pushed the door in.

“Are you hungry? Do you want anything to drink?” He motioned with his head toward the kitchen. The main light shone down the hallway.

“I could use water. But I know where everything’s at, Alexander. You look like you could use some sleep.”

“I’m alright,” he dismissed. “I'll get you water. We haven't talked in awhile. I know you've been busy, too, and Philip will be all over you tomorrow so I figure--” Alex jumped back as he rounded the corner. Angelica glanced over his shoulder.

John sat hunched over the kitchen table, cell phone to his ear. He looked up, nearly as surprised as Alex. ‘Sorry,’ he mouthed, and stood, stepping back. “Hey, it’s really late here, so I have to go,” he said into the phone. “I love you too, sweetie. And good luck today… Yeah, I'll call as soon as I can. Bye-bye.”

He glanced over at Alex and Angelica after hanging up, the expression on his face akin to guilt “I'm sorry,” he apologized.

“It’s no problem,” Angelica said before Alex could even open his mouth. He was still reeling. “You must be John.” She held her hand out, and he shook it.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Church,” he greeted.

“Please, just Angelica.”

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Angelica,” John corrected.

“The pleasure’s all mine.”

Alex cleared his throat. “Did Philip go to bed okay?”

“He didn't give me any trouble.”

“I'm half tempted to go up there and see him now,” Angelica admitted. She caught the look Alex shot her, and raised her hands in defense. “I know, I know! I’ll wait until morning.”

“He’ll be excited to see you,” John promised. He carded his fingers through his hair, and glanced absently at the clock. “Holy-- it’s late, I'm going to head to bed.” Alex looked at him quizzically. “I'll see you in the morning, Angelica. Mr. Hamilton.”

“He seems nice,” Angelica said after John retreated up the stairs.

“He is. He’s good with Philip, too.” Alex reached into the cabinet and grabbed a glass. “Ice?”

“No, thank you.”

“The European life is rubbing off on you.”

“What can I say? I’ve gotten used to room temperature water.”

“A sin, I tell you.” He handed her the full glass, and leaned back against the counter. “How’s John?”

“You asked me that on the ride her.” Angelica crossed her arms over her chest, and mirrored his posture.

“I _really_ care about your husband,” Alex confessed. “You know, I almost convinced him to leave you and marry me.”

“I wish you would have. You know, I love him. But I really wish he would do his own dishes.”

“He’ll learn while you're gone. Sink or swim.”

“If he doesn't I’ll have his ass,” Angelica promised.

They were both silent for some time, Angelica nursing her water, Alex watching the floor.

“How have you been?” She asked finally. Alex looked up.

“You asked me that on the way in,” he countered.

“I asked how you and Philip are doing,” she corrected. “How are _you_?”

He stared at her for a few seconds, then smacked his lips. “I’ll bring your bag up to your room,” he told her, and left her alone in the kitchen.

She let it go.

\--

John enjoyed cooking. It was a simple enough task: just follow the recipe, measure the ingredients, maybe add a spice or two. It was easy.

He wandered downstairs at seven in the morning, still dressed in the sweatpants and T-shirt he had fallen asleep in. His headphones dangled from his ears, the wire tracing lazily back to his pocket. The house was quiet, and he had a feeling that it wouldn't be like that again for a while.

He rounded the ingredients up, and it wasn't until the batter was on the griddle that he heard a muffled voice behind him.

John raised an eyebrow, then turned around. “I’m sorry--” he said, and pulled his headphones out of his ears and shoved them into his pocket. “Can you repeat that?”

“I said, ‘isn't it a little early for you to be making pancakes?’” Angelica looked amused. “You were up late last night.”

“I woke up and couldn't go back to sleep,” John shrugged. He flipped his pancake over. “And Philip is usually up early, and I know you and Mr. Hamilton were up later than me, I thought I'd handle him for a few hours.”

“Don't you have the week off,” she asked, but she sounded amused.

“Yeah, that's another thing,” he chuckled. “I have the whole week off and I get to stay here, I think a hot breakfast is in order. Do you like pancakes?”

“I do.”

“If you grab a plate and a fork you can have the couple I just finished.” He nodded his head toward the plate beside the stove. “They're nice and fresh.”

“I think I will,” Angelica decided. “Thank you.”

She seemed to float when she walked, John noticed. Even dressed in just her pajama pants and a tank top, she commanded respect. She pulled her hair back into a ponytail as she made her way to the cupboard, and John couldn’t help but stare, amazed.

“Are these chocolate chips?” John was pulled from his thoughts.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, they are. It’s Philip’s favorite.”

“I'm sure he likes eating actual meals now.” The comment was made dismissively, and John almost didn't catch it but--

“What do you mean?” He asked, putting another pancake on the plate Angelica had just emptied.

“Alexander can't cook,” she explained. “He was probably eating frozen food and takeout before you got here.”

“Well, I mean, there was another nanny before me,” he pointed out sheepishly.

“Oh, that's right,” Angelica said around a mouthful of pancake. “He made really good stir fry.”

Before John had to think of a reply, Mr. Hamilton stumbled into the kitchen groggily, stifling a yawn. His eyes were still half closed, and he avoided running into the table by mere inches.

“Good morning, Alexander!” Angelica chirped, and she got something akin to a moan in response.

“There’s coffee in the pot, Sir,” John said without turning around. “Extra strong.”

There was no answer other than the clink of him rooting through the cabinet for a mug.

“Philip should be up soon,” John said as he spooned the last of the batter onto the griddle, “or I can go wake him now, if you'd like.”

“I’ll man the stove if you would,” Angelica promised, and John stepped back with his hands up.

“She’s all yours. I’ll go get him.”

He left the room as she tried to coerce Mr. Hamilton into pleasant morning conversation. John knocked gently on Philip’s door, and leaned his ear against it.

“Hey, kid, time to wake up!” There wasn't much response. John tried again. “I made your favorite for breakfast.”

This time, the answer was muffled, like Philip had his head buried in his pillow-- a hopeful, “chocolate chip pancakes?”

“They've got your name on ‘em,” John promised.

“Coming!”

“Meet you down there.”

\--

It wasn't long until Philip came flying down the steps behind John. He was just putting the stack of pancakes on the table when he heard a cheerful “Good morning!” Coming from the stairway.

John and Angelica responded in unison, and it took just a few seconds for Philip to realize that two people had spoken before--

“AUNT ANGIE!” He barreled past John to envelope his aunt in a hug, nearly knocking her chair over with the force.

“Hey, baby! How are you?” She laughed, and pulled him into her lap. “I haven't seen you in ages!”

“I didn't know you were coming!” He answered, dumbstruck.

“I thought I'd surprise you.” She grinned, and pulled him into another hug. John laughed quietly. “We’ll catch up over breakfast,” she told him. “I'm starving, and John made us a delicious meal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has drained my life force, I think. But wow, okay. Thank you all for all the sweet comments, they really motivated me to bang out this chapter and update AGAIN this week, which I seriously can't believe. And thank you for all the kudos, I almost dropped my phone when I saw how many there were. You guys are amazing, thank you so much!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I want more coffee. Want me to fill you up?” Alex held up his empty mug.
> 
> “Alexander, it’s nine-thirty.” 
> 
> “I’ll take that as a no, then.”
> 
> “Alexander, please.” He stopped, half turned toward the kitchen. She took the opportunity. “It’s okay to miss her. We all do.”

John sprawled out on Herc and Lafayette's couch later Sunday afternoon. He colored absently, reaching down for another pile on the floor beside the couch.

“You really bought adult coloring books, Gil?”

He sat on the floor beside his son, leaning against the coffee table. Lafayette stuck his tongue out at John. “Georges and I don't like to color the same things,” he defended.

“Papa likes coloring patterns!” Georges agreed. “And I like to color superheroes! What do you like to color, Uncle John?”

“Hmm,” John rubbed at his chin thoughtfully. “I'm not sure. Maybe lions?”

“Lions?” Georges pulled a face. “Why lions?”

“They're cool looking,” John defended. “And they roar and they could reach out and--” he lunged forward, and tickled his stomach, “GETCHA!”

“Uncle John!” Georges squealed, laughing. Lafayette snorted.

“And how would you like if they got you back, Uncle John?” Gilbert pressed, and John looked up just in time to find himself pinned to the couch. “Quick, Georges, get him!”

“Hey, hey wait!” John managed to get out in protest before he was at the bottom of a pile. “That’s not--” his words were drowned out by laughter as he struggled half-heartedly. “Not fair!”

“All’s fair in tickles war, Johnny.”

“I think you need to brush up on your English.”

\--

The the pile was broken up by Herc arriving home with the stack of pizzas they'd ordered. “As much as I love beating up on John,” he said, “I'm starving, and if we don't all get to this table, I might just eat both of these pizzas on my own.

\--

Philip fell asleep on Angelica’s lap, the back of his head resting against her shoulder. She kept her arms wrapped around his waist as she shifted in her seat.

“I think he missed you,” Alex mused, watching them with a hint of something more than amusement.

“Who wouldn't?” She supplied back. “I’m easy to miss.” He smirked in response, and she sighed. “Speaking of missing people,”

“I want more coffee. Want me to fill you up?” Alex held up his empty mug.

“Alexander, it’s nine-thirty.”

“I’ll take that as a no, then.”

“Alexander, please.” He stopped, half turned toward the kitchen. She took the opportunity. “It’s okay to miss her. We all do.”

He stared into the bottom of his mug, ringed with the remains of his coffee. He couldn't bring himself to look back at Angelica.

“It’s been two years,” he answered. “I'm fine.”

“So, what? You'll just pretend she never existed?” Angelica challenged. He whirled around, mouth open to retort, but she beat him to it. “There's no pictures of her, Alexander. You gave her clothes to Goodwill, and all of her jewelry is shoved away in some drawer somewhere. You changed her sewing room into a spare bedroom.”

“What would you like me to do with her clothes?” He shot back, keeping his voice low.

“You brought in a nanny.”

“We had a nanny before, remember?”

“You brought in a new nanny.” It was an accusation, and Alex bit.

“He wasn't doing his job right.”

“Eliza would have caught that, Alexander,” Angelica argued.

“She obviously didn't,” he answered. “I'm going to get some work done.”

Angelica sighed, but let him leave the room. She buried her nose in Philip’s hair, then muttered to herself, “Guess I should get you to bed. Let’s see if I can still pick you up.”

\--

“It’s way past your bedtime,” Lafayette said sternly. He was right, it was nearly ten, and Georges was overly tired, John could see it in his eyes.

“But Uncle John’s here,” he protested, looking to his godfather for support. John put his hands up defensively.

“That’s hardly an event,” Herc pointed out. Though, he could admit that John hadn't spent much time with his Godson in a while.

“How about I tuck you in?” John suggested. All parties involved looked satisfied with that. “Go get your pajamas on and brush your teeth. I’ll be in in a few minutes.”

Sated, Georges went around and gave everyone a goodnight hug.

“Good thinking,” Herc said, “you should have been a teacher.”

“No, thanks,” John replied. He laughed, though. “One kid at a time is plenty. Plus, I majored in law. What would I teach?”

“You're still good with kids,” Lafayette pointed out. He softened. “Speaking of… How are things going?”

John shifted in his seat, uncomfortable. “Slowly,” he admitted. “But I've got a lot more to focus on right now.”

“Too busy being Maria?” Lafayette teased.

“Try Mary Poppins,” Herc suggested. “She didn't sleep with her boss.” He paused a second, then turned back to John. “You didn't slee--”

“No, Herc, I didn't sleep with my boss. Now, if you'll excuse me, Gil, I'm going to tuck your son into bed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is shorter than usual and I'm sorry! But, I realized I keep forgetting to mention that if you want to contact me, or send me prompts, my tumblr is @big-b-gwinnett, and my Twitter is @jobuschgotbooty. Thank you again for all the nice comments, they really motivate me to write!


	10. Chapter 10

“How’s work been?”

Angelica didn't even knock before entering Alexander’s office. She seemed unaffected by the closed door, or the overflowing pile of empty coffee cups, or the headphones over Alex’s ears. Even with music playing, Alex heard her enough to whirl around in his seat.

“Ange, hey-- I'm actually in the middle of something right now.”

“I'm only here for a couple more days,” she answered, pushing papers back so she could perch on the edge of the desk. “I haven't spent any time with you.”

“You're here for Philip,” Alex said, and only looked up when he heard Angelica scoff. He didn't need to look to see the exasperated expression on her face. “That came out wrong,” he noted.

“Yes, it did.” She sighed, and as he opened his mouth to say more, she raised her hand. “I came all this way for family,” she told him. “Not to babysit. You have a nanny for that.”

“Not this again, please--”

“I didn't come up here to argue with you,” she said stiffly. “I came up here because you've been avoiding me.”

“I was with you two nights ago.”

“And now you're holed up in here.” She gestured around the office. “Instead of spending time with me.”

“I'm sorry, I don't know what else you want me to say.” His voice hardened. "You came at a bad time."

"You invited me," she reminded. “Say you'll come watch a movie with Philip and I? Or have some tea with me? Or go to the zoo with us.” He averted his eyes.

“Sorry, I can't,” he decided, and she drummed her fingers against the desk.

“Why not?” She asked. “Did I say something? If it’s about last night--”

“It’s not that, really," he promised.

"then what is it?" She asked, almost begging-- but not quite, because Angelica Schuyler never begs.

"work."

She pressed her lips into a thin line. "What's it really?"

His mouth worked, but no sound came out at first. Then, he stammered. "It's just-- it's  _you._ __ _"_

\--

“C’mon, it’s time for bed,” John ushered, shooing Philip up the steps. Actually, it was past his bedtime, and had Philip been hanging out with his aunt, John wouldn't have said anything, but he'd been playing downstairs with a set of toy cars, and both Alex and Angelica were M.I.A. John figured he could help out.

“Now go brush your teeth and get changed,” he ordered. “I’m going to go talk to your dad real quick.”

“Do I have to go to bed?” Philip whined.

“Go.” John raised an eyebrow. “And pick out a book for me to read.”

Philip let out a huff, but he did as he was told, and when John saw him disappear into the bathroom, he laid his hand on the doorknob to the office. He was just about to push the door open when he overheard the conversation.

“Oh, it’s me?” There was something hostile in Angelica’s voice. John cringed. A chair squeaked.

“Yes!” And Mr. Hamilton’s voice cracked. “You just-- you remind me of her, Ange. I mean, God. You have no idea how much she looked up to you.”

“Alexander.” Angelica's voice softened, and there was a moment of silence. “You can't just--”

“I know, I know.” A chair slid across the floor, and it screeched. John felt guilt pooling in his stomach. He shouldn't listen. “I know I can't, and I don't blame you, I just…”

“I get it.” It was followed by something akin to a sigh, but breathless. John took a step back. “But this-- the nanny, working until… Do you even know what time it is?”

“Ange, I'm not sure. I just have a lot on my plate right now--”

“This not being here for your son can't happen,” Angelica interrupted. “It needs to stop. I mean, what happened to the last nanny, Alex?”

“I told you, he--”

“What really happened?” There was a beat. John could have cut the tension with a knife.

“Does it matter?”

“Alexander,” she warned. He cleared his throat. John felt the urge to do the same.

“Fine, fine. I just… Don't freak out.” He cleared his throat again, stalling. “We were in a relationship, after Eliza died.”

“You--”

“Let me finish, please.” He sounded tired. “I-- there was a really bad argument, I never told anyone.”

“John!” John whirled around to see Philip staring at him from his open doorway. “I picked a book!”

John looked back at the door in front of him, thought about how the taboo story might end, what Mr. Hamilton hadn't been telling him. But then he looked back, and swallowed. “What'd you decide on?” He asked, taking the book from Philip and following him into his room.

“Superman!” He announced proudly, jumping onto his bed.

\--

John leaned back in his seat beside the bed, letting his eyes drift close for a second before opening them again.

It was late. The comic book was a double edition, but John found himself glued to the words, and he read until he almost put himself to sleep with his droning, and there was nothing left but the back cover. When he looked up, Philip was passed out, snoring lightly.

John couldn’t bite back a chuckle, though it was empty, and tired, and he was just about to put the book back when he heard a door down the hall open and shut.

There was a split second where he considered asking for the actual ending of a story he never got to hear, where he wanted to truth about the mysterious Mr. Aaron, but the thought slipped his mind as soon as it entered.

Did it matter? He decided, packing himself up to head to bed.

“Goodnight,” he whispered to the silence as he turned the bedside lamp off.

\--

“No, no, honey, you're not bothering me at all, I've got the week off.” John glanced at the clock, just after two thirty in the afternoon. He settled into the armchair. He had time before Angelica and Philip got home from the zoo. Or, at least, he hoped he did. “Ah, it's kind of a long story.”

He watched the clock carefully as he talked, and when he heard the front door open, he cleared his throat. “I think I've got to go, sweetie. I know, I'm sorry. I’ll call you again tomorrow, and I'll try to visit soon. I love you too, baby.” He sighed when he hung up, and dropped his head back. When he opened his eyes, he saw Angelica in the doorway,

“Welcome home,” he said. He sounded tired. “How was the zoo?”

“Philip had fun, he got to see the zebras.”

“You didn't have a good time?”

“I've seen plenty of zebras in my day,” Angelica explained. “We were about to order dinner. Care to--” she paused, “would you and whoever you're dating care to join us?”

John blanched. “I don’t--” his voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. “I’m not dating anyone, actually,” he corrected, and as Angelica opened her mouth to apologize, he added, “that was my daughter.” 


	11. Chapter 11

“Oh,” Angelica said. She shook her head. “I’m sorry, I thought--”

John raised his hands, and shook his head. “Don't worry about it,” he told her. “Mistakes happen.” 

“I didn’t know you had a daughter.” Angelica sat down on the couch, and leaned forward to look at John. This was turning into a conversation he wasn't aware they were going to have. 

“Yeah, uh… Her name’s Frances. We call her Frankie, though.” 

“Do you have any pictures?” She looked so genuinely interested that John found himself nodding, and pulling his phone out of his pocket. 

“Yeah, I do. It was actually her first day of school the, uh, the night you got in.”

“Where you called her at two in the morning?” Angelica asked as he scrolled through his camera roll. John pulled a face, and shifted awkwardly as he handed the phone over. 

“Kind of. It was-- it was about seven there. She lives in England with her mother.” He cleared his throat, and waited for a comment, but instead Angelica gushed,

“Oh! How cute. I love her shirt!” It was pink, with hearts and teddy bears, and John knew it by heart because he bought for her last time he’d visited. 

“Thanks. Martha picked it out, not me.” He leaned forward to look at the picture again. “She’s five now. Frankie, I mean. Not her mom.” 

“I didn't think so.” She scrolled to the next picture, a macaroni picture with the elbow noodles shaped like a heart. “Do you see her a lot?”

“As often as I can. I lived with them for a while, but there was a family emergency and they needed me back in the states, and since the divorce broke my citizenship--”

“The divorce?”

“Err.” John cleared his throat. “Shotgun wedding,” he explained lamely. “We left on good terms, just didn't love each other like that, I guess. I stay with them whenever I visit.” 

“What’s she like? Your ex?” 

“She’s…” John chucked to himself. “She's a saint, really. Maybe even an angel.” He combed his hair back with his fingers. “The nicest woman ever-- she tried to get out of the divorce just to keep me in the country, but it didn't seem fair to her, and there was a family issue, so it just seemed easier to. Y’know.”

“She sounds wonderful,” Angelica said, and John nodded. 

“Yeah, she is.”

“How did you two meet?” And John looked up, almost surprised. 

“We, uh, we met in class. I was studying abroad and she offered to show me the city.” He laughed quietly again, and something akin to regret crossed his face. “At the very least she’s my best friend, and she lets me borrow her couch whenever I'm in town, and she helps pay for the phone calls.” 

“But now you're stuck here?”

“For a while, at least. I applied for citizenship but I probably won't hear back for a while, and I'm not going back to school there and I don't have a job lined up…” 

“So you're out of luck.”

“I’ll stick to visiting as much as I can, yeah.” 

“Well, Frankie’s really cute.”

“She’s a great kid,” John agreed. He swiped the screen again, to a picture from his last visit, with Frankie on his shoulders in front of the London eye. Then a picture of her stirring a pot on the stove. The stove, noticeably, wasn't on. A picture of her sticking her tongue out at him over a Skype call. 

Just looking at them, John felt something stir, and he couldn't stop the smallest of smiles from creeping onto his face. 

“It’s hard being away from your family,” Angelica told him, and he nodded. 

“I’ll get there eventually,” he said, standing. “Now what were you guys going to order for dinner?” 

“Good question.” Angelica leaned her head out the doorway. “Philip!” She called up the steps. “Can you come down here, please?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is so short, but school started and I haven't had the energy or motivation to write any more, so have the small section I wrote at the very end of summer. I don't want to keep this where it is for ages. Thank you for all of your comments-- they really made me laugh next chapter. They really got me writing so thank you so much!


	12. Chapter 12

“Oh! Is it… a campfire?” Angelica guessed, practically shouting. Philip shook his head, and once again, mimed warming his hands, and then… 

“Roasting marshmallows!” John announced, jumping up out of his seat. Philip cheered.

“Woohoo! Yeah! It’s roasting Marshmallows!”

“Ohh! God, that's so obvious!” Angelica cried dramatically, hitting her forehead with the palm of her hand. “How didn't I get that?”

“I know him better,” John teased, and she rolled her eyes.

“John likes s’mores more than you do!” Philip suggested, and Angelica mocked offense.

“I’ll have you know I _love_ s’mores!” She argued.

“Not enough,” John pointed out, and he ducked just in time to avoid the pillow she swung at him.

The week had gone better than he'd expected. He still took care of Philip when he needed to-- tucked him in, made him lunch-- but Angelica managed to handle the rest, and John still couldn't help but look at her in awe.

“What time are you leaving, Aunt Angie?” Philip asked, and his mood flipped quickly.

“Not until seven tomorrow,” she dismissed. “Now, if I'm correct, I believe it’s John’s turn.”

“It’s actually your turn,” John corrected, stretching to stand up, “but if it keeps you from getting more points…”

“I’m not that bad,” she argued. The sound of the front door being opened was barely audible over her.

“You're pretty bad,” John answered.

“John’s winning,” Philip agreed. The fridge opened. John lifted up the hat full of words.

“Hey, Alexander,” Angelica called without looking up. “We’re playing charades. You coming?”

The noise from the kitchen quieted, and then Mr. Hamilton stuck his head into the family room. His tie was loose, hanging askew. Half of his hair was out of his ponytail, and he cleared his throat before speaking. “That sounds great,” he said, “but I’ve actually still got work to do before I can relax.”

Angelica didn't look convinced. “It’s Friday night,” she pointed out. “Can’t you get it done tomorrow after you drop me off?”

“John’s really good,” Philip offered.

“And I’m really bad,” Angelica agreed. “You might actually beat me at something. For once.”

It was a challenge, and the slightest smile crossed Mr. Hamilton’s face. John lifted up the hat, wiggled it enticingly.

“I’m sorry,” he answered, shaking his head. “But it's really a lot of work, because I had a meeting this morning, and I have to make sure I finish it before I drop you off because John has the weekend off so someone has to watch Phi--”

“ _Alexander_ ,” Angelica interrupted. “Put down your briefcase and come play charades with us. Okay?”

He swallowed, then nodded. “Okay,” he agreed, dropping his bag, and entering the room. He took the hat from John.

“We can finally have teams,” John noted, sitting back down on the couch, trying not to look between Angelica and Mr. Hamilton suspiciously. He motioned across the couch. “Pick your poison, Sir.”

“Philip’s the best, right?” He asked.

“Absolutely,” Angelica said.

“Without a doubt,” John agreed.

“Alright, honey, you're guessing, then.”

\--

With a suitcase in each hand, John took care making his way down the steps. For his sake, and for the sake of the walls. It was early, just past four in the morning, and John could already smell coffee brewing. “Is this everything?” He asked as he stumbled into the kitchen, eyes bleary.

“Yeah, it is. Thank you so much,” Angelica said, standing from her seat at the table. “You've been a huge help all week.”

“It’s my job,” he answered. “It's no problem.”

“You know, you didn't have to get up,” Mr. Hamilton pointed out. He stood in front of the coffee machine, watching it drop intently. If it weren't so early, John might have laughed at the sight.

“I’m a light sleeper. I figured that while I was awake I might as well help.”

“I appreciate it,” she said gratefully.

“Coffee, anyone?” Mr. Hamilton offered, raising up the full pitcher. Angelica and John both shook their heads.

“I want to sleep for at least some of the flight.”

“And I'm probably going back to sleep.” John motioned with his head toward the bags. “Do you want me to bring these out to the car?”

Angelica laughed. “Alexander, you're the only one drinking coffee, could you get it?”

“I forgot how demanding you are,” he answered, only half-joking as he set his coffee down on the counter and trudged over to the bags. “Yeah, I'll get them. But for John’s sake. Not yours.”

“I appreciate that, Sir.”

“Sure,” Mr. Hamilton said, unconvinced. “You owe me.”

“Of course,” John said to his back as Mr. Hamilton wobbled down the hallway. He turned to Angelica when the door shut. “Have a safe trip home,” he told her, reaching a hand out to shake. “It was a pleasure meeting you.”

“The same to you.” She took his hand. “Oh, John, one more thing.” She reached into her purse, and pulled out a pad of paper and a pen. “Before I forget.” She scribbled something, then handed the sheet over. “For when you need a friend.”

John looked down at the phone number she had written.

“It's hard being away from your family,” she told him. “I get that.”

“Thank you, Angelica.”

“I’m going to miss my plane if I stay here much longer,” she said, throwing her bag over her shoulder. “Take care of Philip, and-- hey, if Alexander gives you too much of a hard time, just call me and let me talk to him.”

“To your bossiness I’ll defer,” he agreed.

Angelica snatched Mr. Hamilton’s coffee off of the counter. “Hopefully I'll talk to you soon?” she confirmed, lingering with her hand on the door handle.

“Quick as lightening,” John agreed.

\--

“I'm on my way out the door now,” John said, tucking his phone between his head and his shoulder so that he could help Philip get his coat on. “Oh-- what kind of a hurry are you in, anyway? You're French.”

“I've spent long enough in this country to know that time is valuable,” Laf answered, the smirk evident in his voice. John rolled his eyes.

“Whatever, you're back to dealing with thirty kids in three days,” he pointed out. “You should be grateful for the time you have a way.”

“When you love your job it isn't a job,” was the reply, and John stifled the urge to roll his eyes again.

“Are you sure you’re okay with me-- hey, Philip did you grab the snacks? Okay, good, let’s head out-- just dropping him off? I can stick around if you want?” He ushered Philip out the door, and took care to lock it behind him.

“You sound like you've got a lot of work,” Lafayette answered. “Go and… what do you do? Mop the floors? I'll be okay.”

“Yes, I mop the floors, Laf. Believe it or not, some of us have to work on Mondays.”

“Sounds like a curse.”

“A wretched one.”

“I can handle two kids, John.”

“Fine, fine. If you say so. Listen, I'm literally getting in the car as we speak. I'll see you in ten minutes.”

“Hurry up, Georges is getting impatient.”

“Like father like son,” John answered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, if it isn't wildly obvious, I wrote that super late at night without editing. Thank you guys for all your super nice comments, they really keep me writing, and thank you for all the kudos and hits and bookmarks and wow... it's so much, thank you!

**Author's Note:**

> Wowie this chapter is really short, but I haven't had much time to write recently and I'm just setting everything up right now anyway.


End file.
